Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [57]
Chloe’s landlord was a stocky salt-of-the-earth farmer in his forties who left the milking to his sons while she told him what had happened. Roelke offered recommendations for upgrading security at the farmhouse. Standing there in the straw-flecked aisle, with the smell of manure in the air and several kittens tumbling around their feet, Roelke felt a tiny measure of reassurance.
He and Chloe walked back to her house in silence. “I really don’t—” Chloe began as she stepped onto the porch, but stopped when her phone began to ring. “I better get that. Come on in.”
He followed her into the house, waiting while she grabbed the phone. “Hello? Ethan! Are you home safe?” Her thin face lit with true pleasure.
Great, Roelke thought. He’d somehow zoomed from protector to intruder.
Chloe glanced up and said, “Ethan, can I call you back in a little bit?”
“No need,” Roelke said. “I’ve got to get going. Don’t forget to lock up tight tonight.”
“So,” Chloe said to her caller, as Roelke let himself out, “tell me all about …”
He slammed the truck door, and drove away.
____
“Who was that?” Ethan asked.
“How was the fire? You didn’t get hurt or anything, did you?”
“The fire is out,” Ethan said. “So, who was that?”
Chloe sighed. “That cop I was telling you about. He just stopped by.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Chloe winced, knowing what was coming. “Don’t freak out, OK? Last night somebody tried to break into my house—”
“What?”
“I scared the guy off, and then I called Roelke. The cop.” She didn’t go into the fine details of jurisdiction.
Ethan muttered something that was likely a curse. “I hate you being alone out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Don’t go Neanderthal on me, Hendricks.”
“I want you to get a dog. I mean it, Chloe. I’m not kidding around.”
“I’ll think about it.” Chloe slid sideways in the chair, hooking her knees over the arm. “I think this is all wrapped up with that missing Norwegian ale bowl. The sooner I find it, the sooner all this will stop.”
“Leave it to the police!”
“The police don’t have evidence of a crime. If I don’t pursue this, no one else will.”
He blew out an exasperated breath. “This is crazy, Chloe! If you’ve searched the historic site without finding the damned thing, what else can you do?”
“I asked my mom to do a little genealogical work about Mrs. Lundquist. And I’m going to the State Historical Society in Madison and poke around there.”
Ethan was silent.
“Don’t be mad at me,” Chloe said. “I truly couldn’t handle that. I miss you.”
“I wish I could come for a visit. But it’s peak season.”
“I know. I’m just feeling down tonight. On top of last night’s excitement, I had this ugly scene at work …” And she spent the next ten minutes telling Ethan about her exchange with Byron. “Thanks for listening,” she said finally. “You’re the best. I suppose you’re still gay?”
“Get that dog,” Ethan told her. “And don’t piss off that cop. What’s his name?”
Chloe poked at a tiny hole in the arm of her chair. “Roelke McKenna.”
“Well, stay on his good side. I’m glad you’ve got someone out there you can call on.”
But I don’t want to call on Roelke McKenna, Chloe thought. She’d said too much to him already.
____
Roelke felt wound too tight to go home. Instead, he drove back at the Eagle PD. Skeet was out on patrol, so the place was empty. Roelke sat down, picked up a pen. Paperwork would calm him down.
He found himself drawing tiny and precise geometric figures along the margins of the form. Finally he crushed the sheet into a ball and tossed it away. Then he got up, opened his locker, and picked up the photograph of Erin Litkowski.
He had met Erin about a month after he started patrolling solo in Milwaukee, the night her husband ignored his restraining order. Erin managed to call 911 as he was kicking in the door. Roelke responded. The husband had already fled. Roelke did what he’d been trained to do. Said the things he’d been trained to say. And then he left, adrenalin buzzing, flying off to the next call.
A week later, he came in from patrol and found Erin’s sister